


the morning doesn't even scare you anymore

by the_one_that_fell



Series: just two kids without their jackets [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Starting a Business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 20:03:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12043257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_one_that_fell/pseuds/the_one_that_fell
Summary: Jack and Bitty stumble into a business venture.





	the morning doesn't even scare you anymore

**Author's Note:**

> CW: FOOD, mentions of real people

_now you only dream in peaceful blue_   
_the morning doesn't even scare you anymore_   
_you are a phoenix with your feathers still a little wet_   
_baby, the ashes just look pretty on your eyes_

-Deb Talan, _Ashes on Your Eyes_

“Alright, so I got so stressed out about the exam I had today that I made a couple things of jam,” Bittle said as he swept into Jack’s apartment. He’d had his own key since Jack had gotten the place, and he abused that privilege on an almost daily basis. If it had been anyone else, Jack would have regretted living so close to campus.

“What’s ‘a couple?’” Jack asked without looking up from his laptop.

Bittle huffed and set a box down on Jack’s table with a small thud. “I plead the fifth,” he said, hand on his hip.

“Mhmm.” Jack raised an eyebrow, standing to peer inside at the half dozen mason jars. “What’re today’s flavors?”

“Three things of strawberry rhubarb – I experimented with adding vanilla and nutmeg – and  _jalapeño jam_ , which everyone back home loves to use for holiday parties and whatnot. Goes great with cream cheese and crackers.”

“Because I throw so many parties,” Jack chirped.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Bittle asked, bustling around to grab himself a cup of water. “We’re hosting a holiday party before everyone goes home. Not a big thing,” he added quickly at Jack’s frown. “Me, you, the gang, maybe the Frogs…”

“Matt?” Jack asked far too casually.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Bittle said, frowning down at the sink. “Things have been kind of weird with him lately. I think he’s gonna break up with me.”

Jack gritted his teeth. Sure, he wasn’t Matt’s biggest fan, but he didn’t think the guy was  _that_  stupid. “His loss,” he managed to say, switching over from his assignment to his Gmail account to try and distract himself. There were three new emails waiting for him: one from his parents, checking in; one from his bank with his daily checking account balance; and one, surprisingly, from Georgia Martin.

“You’re sweet,” Bittle said sadly, sitting down across from Jack. “But he’s, like,  _way_ out of my league. I never stood a chance.”

Jack frowned, mouse hovering over George’s name. “Bittle, he’s out of your league because he’s- he’s  _little_ league and you’re- you’re fucking Peyton Manning.”

Bittle chewed on his bottom lip, looking pleased. “Thanks, Jack.”

“Just stating facts,” he replied, opening George’s email and skimming the contents. “Huh…”

“What?” Bittle cast him a curious glance.

“I have an email from George Martin- you remember her, right? She was the AGM who knocked you over while you were Tweeting your way to class.” Bittle glared at him but nodded. “She’s just…I don’t know. Checking up on me. Making sure I’m doing okay, asking if there’s anything I need from her. That’s…nice.”

Bittle cooed. “What a sweet lady. I should send her some jam.”

“We’ve got plenty,” Jack mildly. Bittle scoffed.

“There’s a whole case left at the Haus. I’m giving some to Farmer for the volleyball team, and some to Atley for being the best advisor ever, but I think I can definitely spare one or five jars. And make some bread to go with it.”

“Here,” Jack said, pulling his wallet from his pocket. “Use my card for the shipping.”

“Jack, I couldn’t-” Bittle started, but stopped at the look Jack cast him. “Alright, thank you. The Sin Bin’s been running a bit low since March and Ransom broke up and Holster declared a moratorium on Nursey using the word ‘hashtag’ in conversations with Dex.”

Jack chuckled and shook his head. “You know, you can always count on me to be your personal Sin Bin. You don’t have to pay for all of your baking from fines and Christmas money from Moomaw.”

Bitty sighed. “You know I can’t do that, Jack. Plus, I have  _two_ whole jobs now! They don’t pay much, but they definitely fund my butter obsession.”

Jack sighed fondly, holding back a smile. Bittle had managed to get a job over the summer filming video blogs for the administration office’s YouTube channel. It was a weak attempt on their end to attract students to Samwell, but Bittle loved it to death – and he’d been so good at it, they’d offered him a position as a tour guide. Neither was more than a few hours a week and both were minimum wage, but they made Bittle happy and gave him some sense of financial independence, no matter how inconsequential.

“Okay,” Jack said placatingly. “Are you staying for dinner?”

“Only if you’re ordering Thai,” Bittle teased.

Jack rolled his eyes fondly and opened up his phone, thumb already on the GrubHub icon.

* * *

The holiday party was as low-key as Bittle had promised. Matt  _had_  broken up with him, but Bittle didn’t seem too upset. Ransom and Holster were so burned out from finals and the season that they didn’t even  _try_  to bring a keg, and Shitty brought a whole sack full of presents for everyone, poorly wrapped in “non-denominational, boss-ass snowman” wrapping paper. Nursey and Dex seemed to fighting less, and Chowder brought Farmer, who was always really nice to Jack. They sat around Jack’s tiny living room, eating jalapeño jelly on crackers with cream cheese and drinking wine that actually came from a bottle.

“I feel so adult,” Bittle whispered to Jack, cheeks flushed from the alcohol. “It’s like the New Year’s parties my parents always go to.”

Jack grinned down at him and helped himself to some of the artichoke dip that had just been pulled from the oven. “You’ll be 21 in a few months, Bittle,” he said. “Soon you’ll be old and boring like me.”

“Shh,” Bittle shushed. “Will not.”

“Oh, did I tell you?” Jack sat up a little straighter, trying not to feel excited when Bittle leaned into his space. “George wrote a thank you note for the jam and bread you sent over. Apparently,” he continued, leaning over to grab his own glass of water. “Alexei Mashkov had some – they brunch, or something – and was asking her for your contact info. I can pass that along, if you want.”

“Oh!” Bittle held a hand to his mouth. “An NHL star wants my jam?”

“ _What?”_  Holster looked over at them. “Bits, are you boning a pro athlete?”

“No!” Bittle gasped loudly. “Alexei Mashkov wants my  _actual_  jam, the kind I make in a kitchen.”

“Dude, what?!” Ransom jumped up, eyes wide with excitement. “You’ve talked to Mashkov?!”

“No,” Bittle repeated, looking frustrated. Jack casually leaned over to grab the wine from the coffee table and pour Bittle another glass. “Jack talked to Geo- the Falconers’ GM recently and she was so nice I sent her a care package and she shared it with Mashkov and now, apparently, he wants some for himself. Which I am happy to do,” he said, turning to Jack.

“Cool,” Jack said. “So that’s, what, $5 a jar, $6? How much for the bread?”

“What? Don’t be silly,” Bittle said, stunned. “I can’t charge him.”

“Why not?” Lardo asked, head tilted to the side.

“That’d be rude!”

Shitty snorted. “Bits, I think that’s small change for someone like him.”

“It was a gift for Ms. Martin,” Bittle said sternly. “So it would be a gift for Mr. Mashkov as well.”

“But you don’t know him,” Ransom argued, looking a little too disappointed at that fact. “And he hasn’t done anything for you, like favors or whatever. Obviously he should pay you, at least for the cost of supplies.”

Bittle huffed, looking worked up, so Jack squeezed his shoulder and said, “Bud, Mashkov wouldn’t see it as rude. George’s words were, and I quote, ‘Mashkov really wants to  _order_  some jam from Bittle.’”

This seemed to sway Bittle. “Well, if that’s what she said…But the bread is gonna be complimentary, got it?”

“Dude, you could sell this shit for a hundred bucks and people would buy it,” Ransom said around a mouthful of crackers and jam. “It’s that good.”

“Oh, stop,” Bittle said, frowning. “Let’s open presents. Ooh, wine.” He noticed his newly-filled glass and took it happily. “I made all’ve y’all food and stuff, in those baskets over there. Merry Christmas.”

Shitty collapsed on top of Bittle, nearly spilling his wine, and kissed his face all over with glee. Ransom and Holster immediately began stealing things from each other’s baskets, and Lardo stole from both of theirs while they were distracted. Jack leaned back and watched his friends, feeling calm and content and confident that he was right where he belonged.

* * *

A few days after Jack returned to Samwell from his winter break in Montreal, he received a text from an unknown number with a 401 area code. He opened it, curious, and grinned as he read the message.

_From (401) 680-XXXX: Jack Zimmermann! George gave me ur number, hope that’s OK. A few friends would like to order jam. And bread! Will pay for bread this time )))_

With a laugh, Jack pulled up Bittle’s number and slowly tapped out a text.

_To Bittle: Alexei Mashkov says friends of his would like to order jam and bread. He emphasized that his friends would be paying for their bread._

The reply was almost instantaneous.

_From Bittle: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_From Bittle: ARE YOU SERIOUS_

_To Bittle: Yeah, bud. Your jam is good._

_From Bittle: Oh, it’s really not. But I’m glad people like it._

_To Bittle: I’ll text him back and see what the order is. Do you think you could get him an ETA after that?_

_From Bittle: YESSIR! ;)_

Jack stared at the winky-face for an embarrassingly long time, wondering why his cheeks felt so hot and his heart so light.  

* * *

It was a few weeks later that Jack received a large envelope. For a few minutes, he wondered why someone had sent him a huge wad of cash and several checks, then remembered the order he’d organized before classes started. Checking that he had time, Jack grabbed his bag and his laptop and headed out on the ten minute walk to the Haus, feeling happy as the chill of January nipped at his skin.

When he arrived, Bittle was sitting at the kitchen table studying, wrapped in a large sweatshirt he’d stolen from Jack before break. Underneath he wore what looked like two sweaters and a scarf wrapped around his neck.

“Mail call,” Jack said, throwing the envelope onto the table. Bittle looked at it, confused, then peeked inside.

“Oh, goodness,” he said, pulling out the wad of cash. “This is- this is too much-”

“It’s the amount we agreed on,” Jack said, sitting down across from Bittle. “Six dollars per jar, three for a loaf of bread. They ordered a  _lot_  of jam.”

“Oh,” Bittle said again, staring at the money like he’d never seen such a thing before. “Gosh.”

“People like homemade food, especially things that keep like jams and preserves,” Jack said, quoting the many market studies he’d…perused over break. “Because it’s homey but not something they would want to make themselves, the average, upper-middle-class consumer doesn’t mind spending a little extra money on this kind of quality good. Plus, your stuff is abnormally delicious, Bittle,” he added sternly. “If you’re willing to put in the work with this jam stuff, people will be willing to pay.”

By the end of his speech, Bittle’s mouth was agape. “Was that…?” He began, looking a little shellshocked. “Was that a business proposal?”

Jack shrugged. “Sort of.”

“Huh.” Bittle looked down at the money again. “Well.”

“I’ve gotta get to class,” Jack said, clapping Bittle on the back. “You think about it. And don’t spend all of that on butter, got it?”

Bittle rolled his eyes. “Bye, Jack. Oh! Wait! Try this before you go.”

Jack ended up five minutes late to class with an entire tupperware of shortbread cookies. No one, not even the professor, seemed to notice his tardiness after he offered to share with the whole class. It was a fair trade; there were always more cookies to be found when Bittle was around.

* * *

“But what would we call it?” Bittle asked on Valentine’s Day as he mixed a new batch of blueberry jam for Mashkov (“Call me Tater!”), Robinson, St. Martin, George, and several people whom Jack believed to be players on teams  _other_  than the Falcs. “Also, do you think they’d mind if I sent samples of my apple butter? I made too much and there’s no way the boys’ll eat it all…”

“I don’t know, ‘Bittle’s Kitchen’?” Jack said, sketching out a rough business model on the back of a Jiffy Lube receipt. “And I think Tater would ask you to marry him if you sent him free apple butter.”

“It would be a partnership, we’re not putting my name in there without yours next to it.” Bittle sighed, mouth pursed as he fell into thought. “Are there any good jam puns? ‘This is My Jam?’”

“Door jam, paper jam, traffic jam,” Jack listed off. “Jam It.”

“Funny,” Bittle said drily.

Jack laughed. “I don’t think you should limit yourself. What if everyone loves your apple butter more than your jam?”

“You bite your tongue,” Bittle said, waving his spoon at Jack. “My jam recipe has been perfected over several years, the ultimate hybrid between my mama’s recipe and my Aunt Judy’s, with my own flare, obviously. There ain’t any jam tastier than this north of the Mason-Dixon.”

“Sure,” Jack said easily, grinning up at Bittle. “I still like ‘Bittle’s Kitchen.’”

“Of course you do,” Bittle sighed. “Do your parents want any of this, by the way? I’ll probably have leftovers.”

“My parents want to adopt you,” Jack said, returning to his doodling. “So, yes. Anything and everything you’ve got.”

* * *

“Tim Gunn wants  _how_  many things of apple butter before his brunch next month?”

“ _Maman_  says a dozen.”

“And no jam?”

“Jam’s not  _in_  this season. Apparently he likes apples.”

“What is even happening right now?!”

“Also _P_ _apa_  says hi.”

“…tell him I say hi back.”

* * *

_< <So Mario told me that Sid asked him about jam,>>_  _Papa_ said in lieu of a greeting during their monthly phone call. This call had been one of his parents’ stipulations before they agreed to pay for grad school. At first it had made Jack feel like a child who needed to be monitored, but halfway through his second semester he found he enjoyed talking to his parents.

_< <I’ll put him on the wait-list. You have an order or just an inquiry?>> _Jack said, grabbing a pen and notepad from his bedside table.

_Papa_ just laughed and said,  _< <Can I give him your phone number?>>_

_< <Sure,>> _Jack said.  _< <That’ll simplify things. Now tell me about that gala Maman’s been working on all month.>>_

* * *

“What do you think of ‘Haus and Home?’”

Jack sat up straighter, eyes burning with fatigue. It was finals and he and Bittle had been working at the library together for hours. This was the first thing either of them had said in almost as long.

“For what?” Jack asked, rubbing at his temples. It was probably time to pack up and head home. The Haus was closer, and he wondered if Bittle would let him crash on the couch if he put a towel down first.

“The jam…thing,” Bittle said hesitantly. He looked as tired as Jack felt. “Y’know, because this all happens in the Haus kitchen and it’s been our home for years now and it just feels…right.”

“I like it,” Jack said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s good.”

“Good,” Bittle said, meeting Jack’s smile with his own. “Alright, let’s head off to bed. I think I’m about to pass out.”

“Okay,” Jack said, closing his laptop and shoveling books back into his bag. “Can I-?”

“Do you want herpes?” Bittle asked crossly. “Because that’ll be least of your worries if you sleep on that couch.”

“Bittle.”

“I will walk you home, you big baby,” Bittle said, standing and packing his things. “C’mon.”

Bittle did end up walking Jack home. He also ended up sleeping on Jack’s loveseat, covered in the throw blanket his mother had sent Jack for his birthday. Jack smiled down at the sight of Bittle passed out on his couch, dead to the world, and wandered into his bedroom to write one last email before crashing himself.

* * *

“What?”

Bittle stared at the computer, both hands over his mouth.

Though he’d lived with Jack over the summer, working full-time for the admissions office, Bittle had been kept completely in the dark about this particular project.

“Lardo and I have been working on this logo on and off since May,” Jack said, grinning at Bittle actually leaned over to  _stroke_  the laptop screen. “I paid her, of course, so it’s kind of…official.”

“Oh, my gosh…” Bittle whispered, then Jack found himself pulled into a tight hug. “Oh, this is too wonderful! Jack, this is amazing, this is-! Oh!” He buried his face in Jack’s chest. “We have a  _logo_.”

“We do.”

“A real logo!”

“Yep.”

“You know what this means?” Bittle asked, looking straight up at Jack.

“What?” He asked, all too aware of how close their faces were.

“Lardo’s a professional designer!” He cried, grinning widely. “She designed a logo for money – she’s a professional! This is so exciting.”

“Bittle.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said softly, pressing his cheek to Jack’s shoulder. “Are we really doing this?”

“I think we are.”

“Wow. I…wow.”

“Yeah. Seconded.”

* * *

Bittle’s senior year was busy, full of ups and downs. He was captain and led the team to victory at the Frozen Four, something that filled Jack with so much pride he thought he might burst. Bittle also came out to his parents, which had been a mixed bag of emotions, but things slowly seemed to be heading in a positive direction. There had been the long, drawn-out horror of Bittle trying to write a thesis, but after many sleepless nights he got through it. Professor Atley would be receiving a lifetime supply of free Haus & Home goods for all she did to aid Bittle, of that Jack was certain.

Jack’s last year of his MBA went pretty smoothly. He worked part-time in the sales department of a video streaming company in Boston proper, which was challenging in its own ways, but Jack found he really did enjoy managing accounts and developing sales strategies in tandem with the marketing team. He learned more in that job that he had in his actual MBA program, he felt, but both were preparing him to take this leap with Bittle. As scary as it was, Jack felt calm and confident in the risk he was about to take. Everything seemed easier when Bittle was by his side.

His birthday/graduation present to Bittle came in two parts: the first was a notebook filled with two-bedroom apartment listings all around the area, keeping close to their friends and within their budget; the second was a URL written down inside a sparkly card shaped like a mortarboard.

“Jack…” Bittle breathed, clutching at Jack’s arm as he pulled the website up on his laptop – one of the few things he had yet to pack, though graduation was a week away. “This is…”

“I’m sorry I didn’t include you in the creative process,” Jack said sheepishly. “I just wanted it to be a surprise. I gave Dex and Chowder a bunch of your pinterest boards in preparation.”

Bittle smiled up at him with wide, shining eyes. “Jack, it’s beautiful. Dex and Chowder made this?”

“They did. We’re almost there, bud.”

Bittle hugged him tight. “Okay, mister, I love these surprises, but no more decisions without me, okay? Ugh, I could stare at this website forever. Look at it. Jack, it’s  _ours_. This whole…thing is  _ours_.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Happy Birthday.”

“Happy Graduation,” Bittle said, raising the cup of beer someone had handed him in the midst of the party that was raging downstairs. “To the future.”

“The future,” Jack repeated. “And the present.”

“Was that a pun?” Bittle asked. “I’m disowning you if that was a pun.”

“Let’s get back downstairs,” Jack said, wrapping an arm around Bittle’s shoulders. “And enjoy being college students a little longer.”

“Sounds good,” Bittle said, leaning against Jack’s side. He stayed there for the rest of the party, and Jack’s face hurt from smiling so much by the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr [here.](http://alphacrone.tumblr.com/post/165128157902/the-origin-of-the-bittle-zimmermann-cruel-jam)  
> My online novel can be found at 


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